Goodbye to All That—For Good?

"The last time I was in New York was in a cold January, and everyone was ill and tired. Many of the people I used to know there had moved to Dallas or had gone on Antabuse or had bought a farm in New Hampshire. We stayed ten days, and then we took an afternoon flight back to Los Angeles, and on the way home from the airport that night I could see the moon on the Pacific and smell jasmine all around and we both knew that there was no longer any point in keeping the apartment we still kept in New York. There were years when I called Los Angeles 'the Coast,' but they seem a long time ago."

—"Goodbye to All That," Joan Didion

As Z and I plan our third move in less than a year of marriage, it strikes me that I may never live in New York again. That's the truth, though it hurts to even type it. Of course, you never know and life has all sorts of unexpected twists and turns and I never imagined living in L.A. or Madison or San Diego, so who knows? But it's possible that this could be our last major transcontinental move (with a summer full of stops, en route). It's likely that even if we move cities, we will aim to stay in the warmth and sunshine of Southern California. There are very good reasons for these things (which seem even better after experiencing a lengthy, frigid Midwest winter), but it still makes me sad. 

My family is in New York, and I miss them (sometimes) and feel powerless in the face of crises that I am too far away to assist with, but I am also reminded of the George Burns quote that "[h]appiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city." I miss my friends, but the truth is, few of my best friends remain in New York City, proper. Some do, but some have spread to Long Island, Boston, Maryland, Israel. It is not as if I would have the built-in community of loved ones and the like-minded in New York City that I once had. There would be few, if any, Washington Heights impromptu all-girl dance parties, even if I moved back to New York.

But, still, it is painful to think that I may never live in The City again. It took me a long time to learn to love L.A., and even now when I'm in L.A., I miss the hustle and bustle of a real city. I miss the dirt and grime of a place where people are just plain too busy to worry about the aesthetics of things. (Columbia, unlike USC, to the best of my knowledge, does not have a million-dollar endowment for its lawns.) I miss living in a place where everything you can possibly imagine is just a subway ride away. I miss living in a city that is dotted with my own personal landmarks and memories. 

The two-person scavenger hunt I went on with my sister in Times Square; the newly minted, still enrobed Columbia grads a friend and I saw in H&H Bagels, knowing that would be us in a year; lots of places where I went on terrible shidduch dates and lots of places where I spotted other people on terrible shidduch dates; the room in MoMA where my 5-year-old sister yelled at me to "take me home now"; the Brooklyn and GW bridges that I have walked across with friends; the crosstown bus I took with a red velvet cake for a friend's birthday party; taking my sister to see her first Broadway show; seeing sunrise from the college newspaper office; picnics and barbecues in parks; the time my father surprised me on a school trip at the Guggenheim; doing a terrible job canoeing in Central Park; the Strand.

And it's true that when you live in a city for long enough, any city will start to accumulate special places, but there's something about New York that makes any other city I've been to feel sterile, less magical, less like home. And I'm not even sure that means I want to live in New York. One of the last times I was there, I was crammed into a subway during rush hour, I wanted my car, and nothing about New York seemed as charming in the freezing rain, and my paper shopping bag got soggy and tore, and I wished I was wearing flip-flops and not a bulky winter coat. But a lot of stuff happened to me in New York. I grew and changed and learned and had fun, and it's hard to say goodbye to all that.

One Shabbos Meal, Endless Appliances

By the time I finish making what was intended to be one laid-back Shabbos meal, I will have used the KitchenAid, the hand mixer twice, the small food processor, the large food processor, and the immersion blender. The washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen portion of this meal will not be laid-back. 

Adventures in Wisconsin Judaism

So, I live in Madison, Wisconsin. There is no eruv (I miss my heels, which can't make the 20-minute walk to anywhere on Shabbos), no kosher meat or cheese, no non-Chabad frum shul, no Chinese food, no kosher restaurant that also serves sushi. We do, however, have two Shloimys and a sheitel guy (who asked me if I needed mine back before Shabbat). That's as good as a pizza shop, right? 

Socialites: They're Just Like Us

Apparently, it's not just frum women who wear wigs; really rich people wear wigs, too. Mostly, it seems, because they're more convenient than doing your own hair after the gym. I guess this is true, but does that really justify a $5,000 wig and $10,000 a year in upkeep. Clearly, this woman needs to find herself a sheitel macher because she is overpaying. And who puts a wig in a box?

Who's Ready for Pesach?

Spotted in the regular (not kosher) supermarket on Purim right before a supermarket megillah reading was announced over the loudspeaker. To live among Jews.

People in India Kiss in Public, Too

According to this NYT article. 

On Kissing in Public, Red Nail Polish, and Other Matters of Tzniut

I've been drawn, lately, to a bunch of articles and responses and other articles on matters of tzniut. I think I've been especially drawn to discussions of tzniut since I got married and started covering my hair because I had forgotten how difficult tzniut can be and how hard it is to be restricted in dress and behavior. There is so much I have become accustomed to doing in terms of tzniut that I don't notice it in the same way anymore. But as I experimented with shaitels, falls, hats, hats with falls, headbands with falls, bandanas,and scarves, I didn't look like myself and I missed my own hair. It was—and still is—hard every time I put something on top of my head and tuck up my hair. 

What's often missing in discussions of tzniut is how intensely personal these decisions are—no matter what the actual decision. Find me someone who observes tzniut in any form and you'll find a girl who's stood before a mirror in a dressing room pulling up a collar, tugging down a hem, trying to convince herself that she can make a dress work. You'll find a girl who stares longingly in the mirror in pants or a tank top or uncovered hair before putting on layers and layers of clothing to leave her house.

And knowing how personal these things are, how difficult it can be to wear a Kiki Riki under the dress that looks so awesome sleeveless and looks so stupid with a shirt underneath or to pull on a denim skirt when you know every single one of your classmates will be wearing jeans or to wrap that bandana around your head when you're having a good hair day (and good shaitel days? Those don't really happen), I am not prepared for any person to tell me how I should be practicing tzniut. 

I wince at the memory of being told by a woman I didn't know in a public place that I was being inappropriate by kissing my husband or being told by others that our hand-holding and hugging should be kept in the bedroom. When this happens, I want to shout, "I am wearing someone else's hair over my better hair. I am wearing a skirt with four safety pins that keep on popping open and scratching the back of my legs to close the slit that goes above my knee. I go to the beach wearing more clothes than the rest of the beach-goers combined. Isn't it enough for you?"    

Which is to say I work hard at being tzanua, but I have made decisions about what to do and what not to do. I wear red nail polish and open-toe shoes. I wear college sweatshirts that shout Columbia across my chest (to be fair, I'm a small person and Columbia is a long word, so what you often see across my chest is "Lumbi"). I show the front of my own hair when wearing scarves or hats or my fall. I kiss my husband in public. I have friends who have made very different decisions about all these things, and I don't think they're wrong or that I am right. 

That's not to say I don't think there are halachic standards. I do. And I follow them. But I recognize that there are many different interpretations and that just because I am doing what I think I need to be doing does not mean what I am doing is right or right for everyone. I fully recognize both the diversity of totally acceptable halachic opinions and the need to find a place that works personally for each individual.    If there's one thing every discussion of tzniut needs to have, it's more tolerance and understanding of others. Because, dude, this stuff is hard enough without having other people breathing down your back and telling you your decisions are wrong.